


Startled

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Character Death Fix, Gen or Pre-Slash, Jay Gatsby Lives, M/M, Nick Saves the Day, POV First Person, POV Nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: Nick hears the shots.





	Startled

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my old tumblr [here](https://teaandfeelings.tumblr.com/post/158898608466/natsby-04).

One would think that after so many nights next door to Gatsby’s parties, filled to the brim with screaming girls and booming firecrackers, I would get used to loud bangs in the night. This was not the case, however, and when I heard the three shots I sat up, alert and wary, and crept downstairs and out the door. I was still in my pajamas and the air outside was cool and wet. I heard shouting and started quickly for Gatsby’s backyard. 

Gatsby was crouching on the edge of his pool, eyes wide and terrified, attempting to calm down Wilson, who was casually flinging his revolver around. There were chips in the concrete edging of the pool and I confess I nearly turned back, fearful of my life. But that golden courage of fine men welled up within me and I walked partially into the open, positioned so that Gatsby could see me but Wilson couldn’t. He caught me in the corner of his eyes, I think, but he didn’t let on. Knew what I was doing.

I snuck around the hedge and the rustic bench situated on the border between our two yards. Wilson’s back was to me, now, and I held a hand up to Gatsby. Three fingers up, two, one -

I leapt forward, grabbed Wilson and forced his arm down, my ears blaring with his screams and the shots of the gun. A bullet almost hit my foot. Soon Gatsby was there, too, and we sat on Wilson. The lunatic was pitiful, really; after he quit protesting he just started sobbing. He stayed that way until the police came, which, in fairness was only for about three minutes.

Gatsby was shaken, that I could tell. His tanned skin was now pale and twitching as he sat on the lawn, hugging his knees. I sat down next to him, not minding all that much the wetness of the lawn or the chill in the air. It was still late and the stars overhead seemed to illuminate like a neon sign on wet asphalt. Gatsby started picking at the grass.

“Thank you,” he gurgled, voice not what it usually was. 

“Don’t mention it,” I replied. “Happy to help.”

He gave a sort of half-smile, half-grimace and bit his lip. I could see him trying to look past the tree line and out to the bay, but from that angle you couldn’t even see to the dock. I felt sorry for him then, because I knew Daisy wouldn’t care, much less try to help him. He was finally and utterly defeated by everything he’d held dear. We both knew that he couldn’t stay here anymore; nobody can outrun the law _that_ much, even Gatsby. And with Daisy gone, what would keep him anywhere? He could disappear, run off to Brazil, and start a baseball team. This was probably the last night I’d ever see him.

“Are you okay?” I asked, because he had stopped picking at the grass and now just looked crumpled. 

He gave a shallow sigh.

“I suppose. Perhaps this will make Daisy apologize.”

It was the elephant in the room, or rather, the yard.

“Perhaps,” I conceded, though I didn’t believe it. The wetness of the grass was starting to get irritating and if this conversation was going nowhere, I might as well leave. 

I shifted a little, intending to stand, when Gatsby’s voice made me pause.

“Nick.”

I looked at him. Was he really this fragile?

“Do you think you could stay, old sport? Just for a little while?”

“Of course. Is there anything you want?”

He smiled weakly.

“No, just company.”

“Alright. But let’s go inside, this grass is soaking wet.”

I grabbed his hand and helped him up, neither of us daring to release the point of contact. The stars may have judged us then, but I can’t find it in myself to care.


End file.
